Page 134 of The High Tide Club
They were seated at a round table with three other couples, all of whom were Gabe’s old friends or business associates. Despite her misgivings that she’d be seated with a bunch of strangers, theirs was a congenial group: the Johnsons, who’d recently retired and moved from Minneapolis to Sea Island, Dave and Susie (he was a business consultant, she did something in marketing), and Jack and Sharon, both closer in age to Brooke, and from the looks of it, still celebrating their recent marriage, because they held hands every moment they weren’t eating or drinking.
The new chef Gabe had touted lived up to his reputation, producing a French-accented five-course dinner that had them all oohing and aahing—and groaning at the thought of the calorie count.
Even the orchestra was a nice surprise—a versatile sextet that played everything from Big Band standards to sixties soul to eighties rock.
“Hope you’re not too bored,” Gabe said as he led her out to the dance floor. The band was playing a respectable version of “Unchained Melody,” and it felt good to be in a man’s arms again. He held her closely, his hand resting lightly on the small of her back, and he was easy to follow.
“You smell nice,” he said, his lips close to her ear. “I know this perfume. You’ve worn it for years, right? Even when you were at the law firm?”
“Since high school,” Brooke said. “It’s Joy. Mom gives me a bottle every year for Christmas. I can’t believe you remembered my perfume from when we worked together.”
“I notice a lot people don’t give me credit for,” Gabe said. “What does Marie have to say about your seeing me?”
“She was all for it,” Brooke said. “She says age shouldn’t matter.”
“Smart lady. And your dad?”
“He’d probably call you a dirty old man. He doesn’t approve of much that I do anymore, but then, I can’t say I approve of all his choices either.”
Gabe chuckled and let his hand slide farther down her back. “If I’m gonna get called a dirty old man, I might as well act like one.”
“I like your friends,” Brooke said. “I was afraid I’d get stuck listening to a bunch of grumpy old men talking about tax reform and prostate surgery tonight.”
“Not a chance. They like you too. Especially Byron. Which is good, because he just sold his share of a startup tech company, and he wants to start doing some estate planning. It’ll be a nice piece of business. He’s got two sets of kids: one set from his first wife, all of whom are in their early thirties, and his kids with Micki, who are eight and six.”
“Really?” Brooke looked over his shoulder at the Johnsons, who were dancing together at the far side of the ballroom. “He’s got grade-school kids? How old is he?”
“Only a couple of years older than I am. Do you think that’s too old to have young kids?”
“I guess I’m just surprised he’d want to start over raising a family.”
Gabe looked down at her. “Personally, I wouldn’t rule it out. Why not? I’m healthy, I can afford it, and I’ve always wanted kids.”
“But Sunny didn’t?”
“No,” he said succinctly. He tilted his head. “How about you? Has being a single mom turned you off to having more kids?”
“Not necessarily,” Brooke said. “I was an only child of an only child. It can be lonely, you know?”
“I was never an only child. I have two brothers. But I do know about loneliness. People treat you differently when you’re not half of a couple. They might bring casseroles and potted plants when you’re first widowed, but after that, it’s a whole lot of single-serve microwave dinners and Netflix binge-watching.”
“You should try being single in a town like St. Ann’s,” Brooke said.
“Maybe you should move back to Savannah and find a nice guy to settledown with,” Gabe said, nuzzling her neck. “Somebody who’d bring you coffee in bed in the morning and rub your feet at night.”
“Mmm,” she said, sighing and sinking into him. “That does sound tempting. Where do I sign up?”
“Right here,” Gabe said.
She looked up at him. He’d had two or three martinis before dinner, and they’d both had a little wine with dinner, but what she’d thought had been casual flirting had suddenly taken an unexpected turn.
He was still holding her hand when they returned to their table. Coffee and after-dinner drinks were being served, and jokes were being told. Gabe scooted his chair next to hers, so close her bare shoulder brushed his dinner jacket. Brooke glanced surreptitiously at his gold wristwatch. It was nearly eleven. She excused herself and headed for the ladies’ lounge.
Checking her phone, she saw that she had no missed calls and no text messages. She combed her hair, reapplied lipstick, then sat in one of the lounge chairs and stared at her phone, waiting for the babysitter’s call. At five after eleven, she called Farrah’s cell. No answer.
“Damn it, Farrah,” she muttered.
She went back to the table and waved away Gabe’s offer of more champagne. “I was about to send out a search party for you,” he said, his voice low. “Everything okay?”
